Read Dragonbonded free: the opening chapter

Shadow's Embrace

The mist clung to the edges of the Emberwood like a worried ghost. It tasted of damp earth and decaying leaves, a familiar flavor on Lyra’s tongue. She moved through the trees not with the careful steps of someone navigating an unknown space, but with the practiced ease of someone who was the space. Roots twisted under her bare feet, cool and yielding. Sunlight, fractured by the canopy, dappled the forest floor in shifting patterns.

She wasn't hunting game, though a plump hare or two would be welcome. Lyra was listening. Not with her ears, but with something deeper. Something that thrummed beneath her skin, a faint echo of another consciousness. Nocturne.

Her dragon.

He was distant today, a muted presence at the edge of her awareness. Usually, even when he soared high above the peaks, she felt the press of his thoughts, his impressions. Now, it was like trying to grasp smoke. A sliver of anxiety tightened in her chest.

“Restless,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Nocturne didn’t speak in words, not exactly. It was more like feelings, images, colors flooding her mind. Today, she received a flash of grey stone, a sense of cold, and a prickling unease. It wasn’t a warning, not yet. Just…disquiet.

---

The cottage, if it could be called that, was little more than a collection of salvaged wood and woven branches, half-hidden amongst the ancient trees. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, a thin promise of warmth against the chill of the forest. Lyra pushed open the roughly hewn door and stepped inside.

The single room was cluttered, but meticulously organized. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, their fragrance mingling with the scent of woodsmoke and something vaguely metallic. Books, scrolls, and charts covered every available surface. She wasn't a scholar, not in the way Seraphina was, but she collected knowledge like a squirrel hoarding nuts. Especially knowledge about dragons. About Dragonbinding.

Old Man Tiber, the village herbalist, had taught her much. Before…before the whispers started. Before the villagers began to avoid her, their eyes filled with fear and suspicion.

She moved to the hearth, where a pot of stew simmered over the embers. It was a simple meal, root vegetables, foraged mushrooms, a handful of dried beans, but it would sustain her.

A small, carved wooden dragon sat on the mantelpiece, its wings outstretched. It wasn’t Nocturne, not really. Just a representation. She traced the smooth wood with a calloused finger. He was unlike any other dragon in Aerthos. A shadow dragon, almost extinct. Their scales weren’t brilliant gold or emerald green, but a shifting, obsidian black. They weren’t creatures of fire and light, but of shadow and stillness.

And she, Lyra, was the first to bind with one in generations.

The binding wasn’t a physical connection, not like the shimmering cords some Dragonbonded described. It was…something far more intimate. A sharing of thoughts, of emotions, of very being. Nocturne was a part of her, and she, a part of him.

A part that the people of Oakhaven found deeply unsettling.

---

The stew was almost ready when she heard the crunch of footsteps outside. Not the light tread of a forest creature, but the purposeful stride of someone approaching with intent.

Lyra’s hand instinctively went to the small knife she kept strapped to her thigh. Old habit. She hadn’t needed to use it in months, but the feeling of its weight was comforting.

The door creaked open, revealing Gareth, the village blacksmith. He was a large man, with hands like hammers and a face weathered by years of working the forge. He didn’t meet her gaze.

“Lyra,” he said, his voice gruff. “The elder wants to see you.”

“Does he now?” Lyra asked, keeping her voice even. She knew this wasn’t a social call.

“There’s been talk,” Gareth mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “About…about the shadows. People say they’ve been seeing strange things in the forest. Feeling…watched.”

Lyra clenched her jaw. The shadows. It always came back to the shadows.

“And they believe it’s me?”

Gareth finally looked at her, his expression a mixture of pity and apprehension. “They’re scared, Lyra. You know how it is. A shadow dragon…it’s not natural.”

“It’s no different than a fire dragon or a wind dragon,” she retorted, her voice rising slightly. “It’s just…different.”

“They don’t see it that way.” He sighed. “The elder wants you to…to leave. For the good of the village.”

The words struck her like a physical blow. Leave? After all these years, after she’d quietly helped them, mending their tools, healing their sick animals, offering her knowledge of the forest?

“He’s asking me to abandon my home?”

“He’s trying to protect everyone.”

Lyra looked at him, her heart a cold knot in her chest. “Protect them from what, Gareth? From a dragon they’ve never even seen? From a woman who’s never harmed them?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She knew the answer already. They feared what they didn't understand.

---

The meeting with Elder Rowan was brief and painful. The old man, his face etched with worry, repeated Gareth’s concerns. He spoke of unease, of nightmares, of a growing fear that Lyra and Nocturne were bringing darkness to Oakhaven.

“I’ve tried to explain,” Rowan said, his voice trembling. “I’ve told them you’ve always been a good neighbor, a skilled healer. But they won’t listen. They say your dragon is a bad omen, a creature of ill fortune.”

Lyra stood before him, her hands clasped tightly together. She had expected this, prepared for it even, but the sting of rejection still burned.

“So, you’re banishing me?”

Rowan looked away. “I’m asking you to leave, Lyra. To find somewhere else to live. Somewhere…where you won’t frighten people.”

“And if I refuse?”

He hesitated. “Then…then I fear there will be unrest. People will take matters into their own hands.”

The threat hung in the air, unspoken but clear. They would drive her out. By force, if necessary.

Lyra felt a surge of anger, hot and fierce. She wanted to shout, to argue, to defend herself. But what was the point? They wouldn’t listen. They were blinded by fear.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. “I’ll leave,” she said, her voice flat. “I’ll leave Oakhaven.”

Rowan seemed relieved. “Thank you, Lyra. I…I truly am sorry.”

“Save your apologies,” she said, turning to leave. “They mean nothing now.”

---

Back at the cottage, Lyra began to pack. Not clothes, not food, but books. Scrolls. The accumulated knowledge she’d gathered over the years. She couldn't take much. She didn’t have much.

Nocturne’s presence was stronger now, a wave of sorrow washing over her. He didn’t understand. He couldn't. He was a dragon, a creature of instinct and wild freedom. He didn’t grasp the petty prejudices of humans.

You are hurt, he projected, the feeling raw and intense.

“They fear what they don’t understand,” Lyra replied, her voice choked with emotion.

They will regret this. His response was a flicker of darkness, a primal urge to defend her.

“No, Nocturne,” she said firmly. “We won’t retaliate. We’ll just…go.”

But where would they go? She had no family, no friends, no place to call home. She was an outcast, a wanderer, destined to drift from village to village, always looking over her shoulder, always fearing rejection.

She closed her eyes, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. It wasn't just the loss of Oakhaven that hurt. It was the realization that this had been her life all along. And it would likely always be.

Suddenly, a new sensation pierced through the gloom. A faint, insistent signal, different from Nocturne’s familiar presence. It was distant, fragmented, but undeniably there. Another Dragonbonded. Reaching out.

And the message, though fractured and unclear, held a single, desperate plea:

Help us.

…Help us.*

Lyra froze, her hands still hovering over a stack of herbals. Another Dragonbonded? She hadn’t sensed another in decades, not since…well, not since her mother. A wave of confusion washed over her, quickly followed by a cautious hope. Could this be a chance for something more than endless wandering?

“Nocturne, did you feel that?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

A spark, he responded, his thoughts clouded with curiosity. Faint, but present. Another of our kind.

“It was a plea for help,” Lyra said, her mind racing. “Someone is in trouble.”

Nocturne stirred within her mind, a ripple of concern. Where does the signal originate?

Lyra concentrated, focusing her energy, trying to pinpoint the source of the distant call. It was difficult. The signal was weak, shrouded in a strange static, as if traveling through a heavy fog. But she could discern a general direction, north, deep within the Whisperwood.

The Whisperwood. Even the name sent a shiver down her spine. A vast, ancient forest, known for its treacherous terrain, its strange mists, and its unsettling silence. Locals whispered of lost travelers, of strange creatures, and of a lingering darkness that clung to the trees. It was a place most people avoided at all costs.

“It’s coming from the Whisperwood,” she said, her voice laced with apprehension.

Nocturne’s reaction was immediate. The Whisperwood is dangerous. We should avoid it.

“I know,” Lyra said, “But someone needs help. And if there’s another Dragonbonded…we can’t just ignore it.”

She knew it was reckless, foolish even. She was already an outcast, a fugitive. Delving into a dangerous forest to aid a stranger was hardly a recipe for a peaceful life. But she couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a random plea. It felt…urgent.

And a small part of her, the part that had always yearned for connection, for belonging, hoped that maybe, just maybe, she could find a place where she wasn't seen as a monster.

Very well, Nocturne conceded, his voice laced with reluctance. But we proceed with caution. The Whisperwood holds secrets best left undisturbed.

---

The journey to the Whisperwood was arduous. Lyra traveled on foot, leading her sturdy mule, Bramble, laden with her few possessions. She avoided the main roads, sticking to overgrown paths and winding trails, hoping to evade prying eyes.

The prejudice she faced was a constant weight. Villagers would cross the street to avoid her, shopkeepers would refuse to sell her supplies, and children would point and whisper, calling her “witch” or “dragon’s pet.” She had learned to ignore it, to steel herself against the hateful glares and muttered insults. But it still hurt.

As she neared the Whisperwood, the landscape began to change. The rolling hills gave way to dense forests, the air grew colder and damper, and a perpetual mist hung in the trees. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional cry of a distant bird or the rustling of leaves.

Lyra felt Nocturne grow restless, his energy crackling beneath her skin. This place is…wrong, he projected, his voice tight with unease. There is a darkness here, a heavy weight that stifles the spirit.

“I feel it too,” Lyra said, her hand instinctively reaching for the smooth scales on her arm, a comforting connection to her dragon. “But we have to press on.”

They entered the Whisperwood, and the mist closed around them like a shroud. Visibility was limited to a few feet, and the trees loomed like ghostly figures. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and something else…something ancient and unsettling.

Lyra followed the faint signal, navigating through the tangled undergrowth. It led her deeper and deeper into the forest, towards a region known as the Sunken Glade. Locals said the Glade was cursed, haunted by the spirits of those who had lost their way.

After days of relentless travel, they finally reached the Glade. It was a desolate clearing, shrouded in mist, with a crumbling stone structure at its center. The structure appeared to be an ancient watchtower, partially submerged in a murky pool of water.

And it was here that Lyra found them.

Two figures, huddled together near the base of the tower. A young man, barely more than a boy, and an older woman, her face etched with worry and exhaustion. Both were clearly Dragonbonded. The young man's dragon, a sleek, silver creature, was wounded, its wing twisted at an unnatural angle. The woman’s dragon, a massive, earth-toned beast, stood guard, its eyes scanning the surrounding forest with fierce protectiveness.

But it was the woman who caught Lyra's attention. Her eyes, though weary, held a spark of familiar power. A power that resonated with Lyra’s own.

“You received our call,” the woman said, her voice raspy with exhaustion. “Thank the stars.”

Lyra nodded, her gaze sweeping over the scene. “What happened?”

“We were ambushed,” the woman replied. “By hunters. They’re after Dragonbonded, anyone who shares a connection with the dragons. They believe we are a threat.”

“They’re wrong, of course,” Lyra said, her jaw tightening.

“They always are,” the woman said with a wry smile. “My name is Elara. And this is my son, Kaelen.”

Kaelen, his face pale with pain, managed a weak nod. His silver dragon, Aerion, whimpered softly.

“I’m Lyra,” she said. “And this is Nocturne.”

Nocturne projected a cautious greeting to Elara’s dragon, grounding himself in the clearing.

Elara's eyes, full of relief, lingered on Lyra for a moment. "I felt your…difference. You've lived a solitary life, haven't you?"

Lyra hesitated, surprised by the woman’s perception. “I’ve…traveled.”

“Traveling is one word for it,” Elara said softly. “Being different is another.” She paused, then added, “We were heading to Silverhaven, hoping to find sanctuary. A city rumored to be tolerant of Dragonbonded. But we were overtaken.”

“Silverhaven?” Lyra echoed. She had heard of the city. A distant, isolated settlement, nestled high in the mountains. It was said to be a haven for those who didn't fit in.

“Can you help us?” Kaelen asked, his voice barely audible. “Aerion needs healing. And we…we can’t travel like this.”

Lyra looked at the wounded dragon, at the desperate plea in Kaelen’s eyes, and at the weariness etched on Elara’s face. She knew she should turn back, return to her solitary existence. But something held her back. A flicker of hope, a longing for connection, a sense of responsibility.

She had spent her life running from prejudice and fear. Maybe it was time to stand and fight. Maybe it was time to find a place where she belonged.

“I can help,” she said, her voice firm and resolute. “I’m a healer. I’ll do everything I can.”

The sample ends here.